If you will please, let me carry on a little more about our yard. It's becoming my obsession, spreading over into dreams and taking over dinner conversations. Last night I walked up and down the back tree line, wondering if I should dig out old stones set in the ground over a hundred years ago when this yard was one of the largest pecan plantations. When I awoke, the moon was still only half way across the sky. In the evenings, at that wonderful time between when Chad gets home and dinner is set on the table, I grab his hand and lead him on a tour of what I've started and what I've planned. That's actually become my favorite part of the day now. The sun is behind the big trees, everything seems settled and calm and he and I talk about the yard like we've lived here for years. Actually, we don't know a thing about the yard except for the bushes and flowers that bloom overnight. Only now, after eight long months of working on the inside of the house, can I finally make time for where I really want to be.
I think he's impressed with how I've been spending my afternoons and how much work I can get done home alone. The way he glances around and raises his eyebrows, or the little hand squeezes he gives me, those are big rewards. Those little things keep me going, keep me digging harder, physically, emotionally and spiritually.
I suppose this is the first post in a new gardening series, because if everything goes according to my hopes and dreams and plans, this yard is going to play a big part in our lives here.